


Text

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:46:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29769504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Noct doesn’t get the phone s*x he wanted.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 11
Kudos: 72





	Text

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Noctis has never liked work—which is exactly what his royal duties are, no matter how nicely his father tries to dress them up. He was never the sort of child to run away or flat-out refuse his responsibilities, but he certainly thought about it. Now that he actually has somewhere to run to, he thinks about it twice as much, and he mopes twice as hard through the busy week. It’s been a full six days since he last saw his best friend in person, ten since he was at Prompto’s house, fourteen since he was snuggled up under the covers of Prompto’s bed with his arm over Prompto’s waist and their legs tangled together. He misses Prompto’s body heat. He misses the lumpy chocobo toys Prompto has in amongst his pillows. He misses the scent of Prompto’s cheap cologne and the way Prompto pets him like a cat when he preens right. Compared to Prompto’s cozy bedroom and even the bed they often share at Noctis’ apartment, his grand suite in the Citadel _sucks_.

For one fleeting moment, Noctis contemplates climbing out the window—warping down to the square and sneaking past the guards. Sure, without Ignis around to wake him up in the morning, he’d probably show up late to the next council meeting, and he’d have to endure a slew of scolding and one of his father’s long, disappointed stares, but one night with Prompto might be worth it. 

But then his father might make him move back in, where he _couldn’t_ escape week-long royal grinds, and he’d never get any breaks in between. 

He rolls over, facing the nightstand. He can easily pinpoint the outline of his phone even in the dark, because the elaborately-framed windows are too enormous to be blocked, and starlight slips in around the curtains. There was a time when the luxury of this bedroom was a plus—it was so easy to sleep in such soft sheets, with such plush pillows, on such a wide bed, with so much room to sprawl out and dream. If there’s one thing Noctis loves, it’s sleeping. But he loves his friends more, so he worms his arm out from under the heavy duvet and lights up the little screen. 

He hesitates before punching in the familiar number, because he knows Prompto has his own life and his own work to wake up to in the morning. But then he gives in, because his screen saver is a picture of Prompto making rabbit ears behind Ignis, and that tugs at Noctis’ lonely heart strings. 

He doesn’t expect Prompto to answer. But he’s not entirely surprised when the phone clicks and a familiar voice yawns, _“‘Ello?”_

“Hey,” Noctis mutters back, probably sounding just as tired. Not tired enough. _Never_ too tired for Prompto. “Sorry, you asleep?”

 _“Not anymore,”_ Prompto snorts, and Noctis would apologize, except Prompto yawns again and asks, _“What’s up, buddy?”_ Like he’s all ears. Noctis can feel himself smiling and knows that the guilt won’t be enough to stop him—he’s definitely going to keep Prompto up for as long as he can. 

“’Just miss you.”

 _“Aww, I miss you too, man.”_ The great thing is that his voice softens, so sincere—Gladiolus or Ignis might’ve teased him over it, and Prompto would’ve too in public, but with just the two of them alone, Prompto’s sweeter than Ignis’ pastries. _“You just wanna talk, or...?”_

“Or?” He has an idea what that is. But he’s not going to say it first, because Prompto’s so pliant and Noctis really tries not to take advantage. 

_“Or... y’know. Uh. Never mind. Um, so... how’s the delegation doing? Altissians, right?”_

“They left on Thursday, but I keep getting dragged into the treaty negotiations even though everybody at the table knows I don’t give a damn about policy. I haven’t spoken one word in a meeting. I don’t know why I even have to be there.”

_“Aw, I’m sorry. That sucks.”_

“Yeah.” There’s a pause where Noctis could spiral off into specifics but doesn’t, because the last thing he wants to talk about is more political psychobabble. The great thing about Prompto is he doesn’t care about all that stuff either. He just cares about _Noctis._

Noctis cares about him and tries, “How’re you doing?” 

_“Blah. Life. You know.”_

“Yeah.” Not really. Their lives are so different. And he kind of wants to hear every little detail about Prompto’s. But he’d also be fine if Prompto just read off the dictionary. He just wants to hear Prompto’s voice. 

He shifts, turning the volume up on his phone and placing it down on his pillow so he can use his arms to get comfy. He’s run out of stuff to say again. The _or_ lingers in his head. He’s tired, but it’s been so long since _that_...

_“Um, so... what’re you, uh... wearing?”_

Bless Prompto’s heart. Noctis almost laughs but catches himself just in time, smiling hard instead. He told Prompto he’d always wanted to try phone sex.

The council would kill him for it. But they’ll never know; Prompto would never tell. Even though he’s in the finest silk pajamas in all of Insomnia, he smoothly answers, “Nothing. You?”

He can hear blankets rustling and wonders how Prompto’s moved—tries to picture it—maybe he was on his side and just rolled onto his back, or maybe he hasn’t moved position but just moved his hand into a very select place. Prompto hesitantly answers, _“Boxers. Uh. The... the thin grey ones you like...”_

“The ones that are definitely a size too small and cup your ass just right?”

Prompto laughs, _“If you say so, dude,”_ and Noctis can practically _hear_ the blush in his voice. He’s probably flushed bright pink, which only ever makes him hotter—he’s so _cute_ when he blushes. 

“Any chance you wanna take them off for me?”

There’s a short pause before Prompto mumbles, sounding somewhere right between embarrassed and playful, _“But then my butt won’t looks as good.”_

“Your butt _always_ looks good. Seriously. I’ve thought about it at least ten times in the last hour alone.”

_“Oh Six. You didn’t.”_

“I did. Your butt. Your face. Your chest...”

 _“Noct,”_ Prompto groans, like he’s all the way embarrassed now, but he doesn’t try to back out.

“You think about me at all?”

_“I always think about you.”_

“No, like _that_.”

Maybe it’s just his imagination, but it sounds like Prompto’s breathing a little quicker. Fabric rustles again. _“Um... well... I kinda am right now...”_

“Yeah? Why don’t you tell me what you’re thinking?”

_“...What I’d do to you if you were here...”_

“What would you do to me?”

Prompto laughs nervously. Noctis’ pulse is racing. His thighs shift, hips angling down into the mattress, so he can give himself that little bit of friction—he should’ve been calling Prompto every night. They talked about doing this before, but Prompto had either laughed or shrugged and Noctis hadn’t pressed it, didn’t think he’d _really_ get it, even though they’ve experimented with way crazier things. Prompto just seems so much bolder when they’re doing it _together_ —when Noctis is right there with him, helping him through. Prompto gives a breathy, whining, _“Noct...”_ and Noctis thinks _maybe_ he’s gone too far and this just isn’t Prompto’s thing. He tries to make it easier by going first.

“I know what I’d do to you. I’d start with kissing every last one of your pretty freckles, suck a hickey into your neck, lick down to your cute nipples, and then I’d kiss my way down to those boxers and take you into my mouth right through them.”

Prompto moans _loud_. There’s no way he’s not into it. Noctis’ hand moves down his own body, hovering right over the tent in his pajamas—he doesn’t want to go too far just yet, because he’s hoping they’re just starting, and it’s going to be a long, thoroughly satisfying night. He swallows and closes his eyes, picturing it, muttering, “I’d suck you through the fabric a few times, then pat your ass and make you roll over, so I could see that great ass of yours. I’d play with your cheeks with the underwear on so I could work up to the big event, where I’d slowly drag them down your waist—” Prompto’s breath hitches, and he makes a whimpering noise like he does when he’s got his whole hand around his dick and Noctis’ cock in his ass. It sucks they’re not doing it now. When Noctis finally cups himself through his pants, he’s pretending it’s Prompto touching him. “Then I’d bury my face in your ass and lick your hole open until you were nice and ready for me.”

He hears a wet squelching noise and wonders if Prompto’s licking his palm or if he actually broke out the lube. Kneading himself, Noctis decides: “Your turn.”

 _“I... uh...”_ He sounds dazed. Unsure. But he also sounds so into it that Noctis doesn’t get the hold up. _“I’d... I guess...”_ There’s a painfully long stretch of silence before he asks, _“Are you, like... on top of me in this, or... am I sitting on your face...?”_

Noctis hadn’t worked out the particulars. “Whatever you want.” He squeezes, holding firm while he waits, ready to stroke the second Prompto gives him something good to pump to. 

_“Okay... I guess it makes the most sense if I’m lying down, like... face down. And you’re over me... are we at my place or yours?”_

Honestly, Noctis would be happy to fuck Prompto in the middle of the Empire’s training grounds at this point. He grunts, “Wherever you want, Prom.”

_“Alright. I guess your place? But like, on one of those nights where we know Iggy’s busy so he’s not gonna pop over—”_

“Prom.”

_“Right. Uh, so... you’re on top of me... wait, are you dressed in this? No, you said you weren’t wearing anything, so... shit, do we still have condoms at your place?”_

The hard-on isn’t going anywhere, because the meandering voice is still Prompto’s, and that’s always a turn on, but Noctis is still losing steam. While Prompto fumbles himself through their fictitious setup, Noctis wars with himself, weighing how badly he wants to come versus Prompto clearly having a hang-up. His traitorous feelings win, and he checks, “Prom, if you don’t wanna do this...”

_“No, no, I, uh, I stick my finger up your—”_

He cuts himself off. Noctis stares up through the amorphous darkness and tries to picture Prompto’s handsome face, smiling and ready to go. 

Then Prompto whines, _“Six, I’m sorry, I suck at this—I know you wanted to try dirty talk and phone sex and I... I just can’t think of words when I’m horny! And we haven’t had sex in like two weeks, so now I’m super horny, even though I’ve been jerking off to pics of you every night—I actually already did tonight like two hours ago—but like, I was having a wet dream about you anyway, so when you woke me up I was all ready to go, but... I dunno, I guess I’m more of a visual guy? Can I just send you pics instead? And I know you can’t send full pics or anything, but I got a whole folder of nudes I’ve been taking for you and if you just send me one dick pic, without your face in it or anything so if your phone gets hacked they’ll never know it’s you, that’ll totally be enough. I mean, I know what your dick looks like so I’ll know it’s you. But a picture would help me? Not that you have to. I’ll send you mine anyway. Six, Noct, I wanna choke on your dick so bad.”_

It’s Noctis’ turned to be dazed. When his head finishes swimming enough for him to formulate words, he blurts, “I love you.”

_“Love you too, man. I wanna come all over your face.”_

“Pfft! See, you can do dirty talk!”

 _“Nooo, that sounded so stupid!”_ He groans, only to huskily check, _“So... you want the pictures?”_

“Fuck yeah I want the pictures!” He didn’t even know that was an option. If he knew that was on the table he would’ve skipped right past talking and onto— “Wanna do a video call and jerk off together?”

_“Wh... you can do that??”_

“Hell no. But I won’t tell if you won’t. But like. Send the pictures too. For future reference.”

Noctis’ phone buzzes. He’s barely started reaching for it when it buzzes again. And again. The screen lights up with a barrage of pictures coming in, scrolling by almost too fast to see—photograph after photograph of his gorgeous boyfriend butt-naked in bed, lying on his stomach with his ass in the air, then on his back with his thighs spread right open, a bunch of his face with his fingers in his mouth and several taken over his shoulder with a toy shoved inside—

An incoming call blocks the bulk of the screen, but he can still see them piling up behind it. Noctis immediately answers. 

Then Prompto’s there, smiling, just as beautiful as he was in Noctis’ imagination, but so much _better_ , because he’s invested in a great camera and Noctis can see everything from the dimples in his cheeks to the blue flecks of his eyes. He’s lit up in a soft orange glow, probably from the small lamp on his bedside table, and the colour’s not great but more than enough. Noctis can see the flush twisting down from his ears to his neck, along his slender shoulders, and the camera doesn’t go _quite_ far enough to show his chest, but maybe that’s for the best, because Noctis has a weird obsession with Prompto’s nipples sometimes and would probably come if Prompto so much as flicked one. 

Prompto grins sheepishly at Noctis before noting, _“Hey, you’re not wearing nothing!”_

It’s not at all the night Noctis expected. 

It’s better.

He mumbles, “Sorry,” and diverts the one hand not holding his camera to pop open the top two buttons on his night shirt. Then he quickly reaches right back down to his rock-hard cock, breathing, “Ready.”


End file.
